Heroes on Both Sides
by Jean Schramme
Summary: On the city world of Axxila, General Aayla Secura and Commander Bly trudge through the hell of urban warfare to retake the world for the Republic. But their opposite number is no mere brute like the usual CIS leadership...in fact, Colonel Adreian Reiter was once one of their own.
1. Chapter 1

The two warring sides met under flag of truce in the capital city, in the central square where the ebony monolith memorializing Axxila's dead now stood cratered and pitted by blasterfire, shrapnel and slugthrowers. On the one side stood an athletic Twi'lek woman with cerulean skin, an intent expression, and a lightsaber slung low on her hip. At her side was a man in the all-too-familiar armor of the Galactic Republic's clone soldiers, highlighted with yellow stripes, command pauldron and the belt-spat known as a kama that was almost _de rigeur_ for senior clone officers.

Standing on the other side of the square were their opposite numbers. There was a droid, one of the boxy T-Series Tactical Droids, head held imperiously high and hands clasped behind its back. There was a Gossam woman, face laced with scars, wearing the attire of the Commerce Guild's Punitive Security Forces. And at the head of them was a Arkanian in CIS blue, ash-blonde hair cropped short at the sides and slicked back at the top. He had a white scarf knotted at his throat with the CIS insignia pinned onto it, and he adjusted it as his delegation initiated the advance-the only concession to the wariness he was feeling.

The Jedi and the Clone Commander stood fast, folding their arms as the Separatist delegation approached. The enemy trio halted ten paces away, and then the Arkanian and Gossam snapped to attention to present arms in a Balmorran-style salute. "General Secura. Commander. I am Colonel Adreian Reiter, commanding the Confederacy garrison here. This is my senior enlisted woman, RSM Hem Zhe….and my tactical droid, TR-11."

"I am Jedi General Aayla Secura, and this is Commander Bly," came the smooth answer. Secura's gaze was unflinching, and she did not return Reiter's salute. "You're bold to have called this meeting, Colonel. They've fallen out of style."

Reiter's lips briefly twitched as both he and Zhe relaxed. "I believe that would be the fault of your comrade General Kenobi. As I understand it, General Loathsom was rather unimpressed. You'll understand if I don't extend quite as much trust your way."

"Big words from a traitor," came the Clone Commander's growl. It wasn't hard to envision the mask of cold fury behind the helmet; Reiter had seen it often enough already on different men with the same face. There was something different about this officer's disdain, though, almost as if he were personally offended. "The Judicials teach you how to shit-talk Jedi too?"

Secura raised a hand. "Commander, please."

Bly subsided, but the way his fists were clenched next to his blaster pistols indicated he wasn't about to forget the slight to his General.

Reiter gave Secura a polite bow of his head. "As I was saying. I called you here to negotiate terms. Not of surrender, I don't think either of us believe that to truly be in the cards. But I think we can agree on a three-day ceasefire to care to our wounded and collect our dead."

"Wounded?" scoffed Commander Bly. "You're leading droids."

RSM Zhe gave a knowing laugh at that. "Not entirely."

"There are several elements from the Kooriva Fusiliers and Gossam Commando groups on-planet," intoned TR-11. "They have been engaged in active combat with your 327th. And performing quite well at that."

That shut the clone officer up, and Secura moved in to fill the gap. "A total ceasefire? No violations by droid units or organics?"

Reiter extended a hand. "You have my word as an officer."

"You resigned your commission in the Judicials," pointed out Secura, frowning.

A pained expression briefly crossed the Arkanian's face. "It was one of the hardest decisions I made. But I had no choice. I hope, one day, you might understand my reasoning even if you don't agree with it."

Both parties ignored the scoff from Commander Bly. Secura stared down Reiter...and then slowly she reached out to take his hand. "Very well. We agree to your ceasefire. Commander, you'll send word to your troops?"

There was a moment of silence before the clone tugged off his helmet, revealing dark hair shorn almost bald, yellow cheek tattoos, and an expression of cold disdain as he stared down Reiter. "Yeah. I will, General."

"Excellent." Reiter looked as if he knew better than to try and exchange a handshake with the Commander. "Sergeant Major Zhe, TR-11, send word to all forces. Three-day ceasefire to take place, effective immediately. General Secura. Commander. A pleasure."

And with that, the CIS Colonel once more snapped to attention to salute, about-faced, and led the trio of Separatist leaders away from the memorial square.

* * *

In the dim red light of the Separatist command center, Adreian Reiter regarded the battlefield activity with a wary gaze. The movement on the holotable were perfectly in line with what had been agreed: Republic forces and Separatist droids alike were moving forward to pull back their wounded and dying...or at least the organic ones. The droid bodies had been left where they had fallen, deemed too maintenance-intensive to repair and reactivate.

Part of that had always struck Colonel Reiter as perverse. Back in the Judicials he'd had an astromech, a loyal companion and true, before the poor droid had been killed during Iaco Stark's abortive uprising. That astromech had been a better person than some organic beings he'd known, and the droids of the CIS army, despite the bluster of their manufacturers, seemed more than capable of achieving similar sentience.

One such example was at his side, reviewing the map. TR-11's red-hued photoreceptors were the same color as the holograms the droid was meditatively reviewing. "Three days was too much."

Reiter frowned. "What's that?"

"Three days was too much." Tactical droids had unique voices, and TR-11's was a harsh electronic rasp. "The Republic appears to have recovered the bulk of their wounded already. The remainder of the time will be spent emplacing and maneuvering their forces to better prepare for the resumption of hostilities."

"So we do the same." Reiter reached up to adjust his scarf before looking down at the map. "How are the Fusiliers and Commandos holding up? They took a lot of casualties."

"Regimental Sergeant Major Zhe reports the Fusiliers are operating at seventy-nine percent strength, and the Gossam Commandos at eighty-three."

Reiter sighed. His fault for couching it like that. "I meant morale-wise, TR. They're not quite as dauntless as your ilk."

"Ah. RSM Zhe has given no reports as to troop morale, but indicates that they are eager for, I quote, payback."

Payback. Between the heavy guns of the Fusiliers' beloved artillery and the sabotage experience of the Commandos, it wasn't going to be the clones who suffered the most at the hands of the Separatist war machine. "...very well. And your droids?"

"All functional units are combat-ready." TR-11 paused, vocoder lighting up as if they had more to say, but the droid stayed silent.

Colonel Reiter took a deep breath. "Go on, TR."

"You are crippling our combat-effectiveness," came the blunt reply. "If we are to secure a decisive advantage over the Republic, we must deploy our heavy units. We have HMP gunships, Homing Spider Droids, and Tri-Droids all ready to-"

"No. I was very clear before the Republic attacked, we are minimizing our use of heavy artillery within the city as much as possible." Reiter shook his head. "As it is I'm already regretting bringing in the Fusiliers."

"Then we will lose. The Republic has no such compunctions." TR-11's tone was a statement of fact rather than a judgement...but Reiter could sense the droid's irritation with organic sentiment, all the same.

"No," repeated the Colonel. "The Republic relies on those it rules to legitimize it, and if they are the ones pulverizing this world, the people of Axxila will never support them."

TR-11 turned back to the holotable. "I hope the 'people of Axxila' agree with you."

"So do I," murmured Reiter as he returned his attention to the plot as well. "So do I."

* * *

Urban warfare, reflected Commander Bly, was far more of a pain in the backside than a straight up slog in an open field. Yes, there was the omnipresent concern of minimizing civilian casualties, but every towering structure was a battle in and of itself, an inferno that could easily swallow up platoons and companies until the enemy within was entirely clear. For three weeks now his 327th Star Corps had been slugging it out in Axxila's capital, with precious little to show for it in ground gained.

And worse still, retrieving the wounded and dead was that much trickier.

"Commander! Over here!"

At the call, Bly turned and headed over in the direction of the shout. There was a small knot of troopers surrounding a body half-buried in rubble...and kneeling over that body was the blue-hued figure of General Aayla Secura, hands on the man's chest and forehead. The trooper had his head shaved bald, his face contorted in pain, but as Secura tapped into the Force, the man's face slowly began to relax.

Bly tugged off his helmet, kneeling next to Secura to take the man's hand. "Galle..."

Lieutenant Galle, one of Bly's most popular platoon leaders, gave the Commander a rueful smile. "Hey, Sir. Don't...mind me. Dip in a bacta tank and I'll be fit to fight in no time."

Clearly some of the medics had had the same idea, trotting forward to relieve Bly and Aayla, pulling Galle out of the rubble. Secura stepped back, folding her arms. "We'll see you soon, Lieutenant."

"Count on it, Ma'am," said Galle as the medics hauled him away.

Bly shook his head as he looked round. It was a similar sight being repeated all across Axxila's capital as the Star Corps tended to their own. It hadn't gotten any easier since Geonosis...but at least they had the General there to help them out. He looked over, giving Aayla a faint smile. "Still can't believe the Seppies agreed to this, Ma'am. You didn't pull some Force powers on them, did you?"

Aayla posted a hand on her hip and arched an eyebrow. "What, you don't think I can be persuasive on my own, Commander?"

"No comment, Ma'am," Bly said as he tugged on his helmet. Easier to hide the flush that threatened to come. "Good news is that we're making faster progress than expected. At our current rate we'll have recovered all known casualties by midday tomorrow. Seppies are holding to the ceasefire too."

The brief smile that came to his General's face vanished. "And why do I sense some surprise from you at that, Commander?"

Bly shrugged. "You really think Grievous or Ventress would have really stuck to it, Ma'am?"

"They are but two of the CIS leadership. Most of the other leaders we have gone against have been droids. Yes there have been exceptions-"

"-like that fat bastard Durd."

"Yes, exactly. But Colonel Reiter is a former officer of the Judicials." Aayla rolled her shoulders. "And still seems to be conducting himself as such."

"With the exception of betraying his oath and his uniform," growled Bly. "I recommend digging in soon as we've recovered all the wounded, Ma'am. Doesn't make sense for us to not make use of our lag time."

Aayla gave him a rueful smile. "Agreed. Give me final casualty reports as soon as we've tallied everyone, and bring the battalion commanders in to meet with me. The respite won't last forever."

"I'm on it, General." Bly hesitated. "...and thanks, Ma'am. If the Seppies see it through, this was just the break the boys needed."

The Jedi Knight's smile turned wry. "I try to look after my 'boys,' Commander. Carry on."

"Yes Ma'am." This time the blush did come, and the Commander turned round to trot off.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, General, I didn't think we'd pull it off, but all our wounded and dead have been recovered, with a day to spare at that."

Aayla Secura was poring over the tactical plot in the 327th's command post when the familiar voice came from behind her. Even to this day she still sometimes found herself trying to identify the Clones she regularly worked with by voice alone rather than relying on Force aura...but it was hard when you had such a strong presence as Commander Bly. Her right-hand officer's sense was unmistakable-steady and reliable, as rock-steady as the man himself, but with undercurrents of something more intense beneath.

She turned round to find him there, helmet tucked under one arm. "Well done, Commander. How's morale?"

"The lads are catching up on their sleep, but we can only relax so much before we weaken our protective posture too much." Bly shrugged, but even the ever-serious Commander had the ghost of a smile playing round his features. "It's been nice, though. It's a beautiful city."

"Maybe one day we'll be able to explore it in peacetime," said Aayla, sighing wistfully.

Bly gave a quiet laugh. "No such thing as that for you Jedi, Ma'am. Doesn't feel like it for us either."

Aayla looked away, at that. There had been plenty of chat among the Order about what happened to the clones after the war. Almost no one had come to a conclusion. Almost no one had wanted to discuss it after the first few months of the war. "No, it doesn't, does it. How's Galle, by the way?"

"Oh, he'll be fine, Ma'am. His armor kept him from getting too badly injured, he'll be done with his bacta soak in time for the ceasefire to end." Bly shrugged, a touch haplessly. "Fitting, I suppose."

"Maybe." Aayla motioned him over to the table. "Here, tentative deployment plans. What do you think?"

Bly paced over, peering down at the holograms. Some of the Grand Army's officers had resented the Jedi primacy and subordinating themselves to beings appointed over them with no military training or experience, but Bly had never voiced such concerns. Aayla had always taken care to consult with Bly on matters of strategy, which was more than some other Jedi did with their clone leadership.

"You sure we want the cannons that far to the rear?" Bly said after a few seconds consideration. "We push forward in the city it'll be hard to get arty on-call for the lads."

"I thought about that, but look-" Aayla indicated the holograms displaying Separatist disposition. "We're not seeing any of their heavies up front. No tri-droids, tank droids, Homing Spiders or Hailfires. What does that say to you, Commander?"

"Uh." Bly's brows knit as he considered that. "Just looks like a weakness to be exploited to me, Ma'am, but I imagine it's something more than that?"

"It is." Aayla indicated the Separatist positions. "Living troops taking the lead and no heavy artillery...Reiter wants his people to be as appealing as possible to the hearts and minds of Axxila's populace."

The Commander gave a snort. "You have a lot of faith in Reiter's military honor, if you don't mind my saying so, Ma'am."

"Compared to the other CIS leaders we've encountered, I don't see why not. He certainly hasn't violated the ceasefire." Aayla gave Bly a coy look. "Not getting jealous, are you?"

Bly remained stonefaced. "Reckon I can rock that scarf better than him, Ma'am, but I'll leave that to Keller and the cold-weather warfare lot."

Aayla laughed. "That's the spirit. We'll keep the artillery back for now in case we need final protective fire to hold the ground we've taken, but we will have our gunships standing by. They can provide a lot more precise air support. Sound good?"

"Yes Ma'am." Bly tugged on his helmet. "I'll go check in with the battalion commanders. Anything else before I go?"

"We've got a day of downtime left, Bly. Make it count."

Something thrummed in the Commander's Force aura at that. "Yes Ma'am. Count on it."

* * *

Even after all this time, Colonel Adreian Reiter still wasn't entirely used to the customary red dimness of CIS command posts. RSM Hem Zhe, at his side, clearly felt the same judging by her irritated blinking as they strode through the hallways of their headquarters. The Gossams didn't have the best night vision in the galaxy, and the Regimental Sergeant Major clearly was feeling the pain of that right now.

"Doing alright, Sergeant Major?"

Zhe grumbled. "This is not the first thing I like to see when I wake up in the morning."

Reiter laughed, adjusting his service cap as they dodged a pair of chatting security droids. "What was a day in the life of the Punitive Security Forces like, before you went to war?"

"Boring, boring, _boring._ " Zhe shook her head. "I started off guarding a warehouse. Then I supervised people who guarded warehouses. We never did the whole conquer-for-credits, that was more the Banking Clan and Trade Federation's line of work."

"And now look at you. An RSM, and wearing the uniform of the Gossam Commandos."

The dimunitive sauroid looked up and flashed a sly smile at Colonel Reiter. "Just because I started off guarding warehouses didn't mean that was where my talents ended."

"Indeed." Reiter nodded approvingly. "As I understand there's not many women in the Commandos."

Zhe sniffed. "Not many, no. But we're there. And what about you? This is a far cry from the Judicials."

Reiter's lips twitched at that. "You're right, it is. I did fifteen years of service with them...soldiered everywhere from the Stark Hyperspace War to the Yinchorri Uprising, to the massacre on Galidraan. The Jedi had my back on more than a few of my missions. It's...weird, being on the wrong side of their lightsabers. In some ways I miss that life, even though I know what I'm doing is right."

The Gossam noncom's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized his attire. "Your uniform…"

"Yes. One of life's great ironies, that-the same shade of blue the Judicial Forces used would be adopted by the Confederacy." Reiter reached up to cinch his scarf closer. "I consider it a reminder. I fight for the same ideals, though the insignia may have changed."

"Very touching," came an electronic rasp. "Organic flair for the dramatic never fails to impress."

Reiter smiled at the figure looming in the entrance to the war room, though it was no doubt wasted on TR-11. "Good morning, TR. How was your recharge cycle?"

"Brief," said the tactical droid. "It left me time to redeploy our forces in your absence."

Reiter's white eyes narrowed. "If you've disobeyed my-"

"No. Our heavy units remain shackled as you requested." TR-11 turned about and started walking for the tactical plot. Reiter and Zhe followed after him, both Arkanian and Gossam looking more than a touch annoyed. Tactical droids had a controversial reputation among the CIS military. Their enhanced processors made them far more useful as strategists than the OOM-series droid commanders, but the increased intelligence had also brought with it no small amount of arrogance. Stories of tactical droids ignoring commands from organic superiors had rapidly proliferated through the droid army's ranks. No one was quite sure how many of them were true.

Reiter warily regarded the tactical plot, clasping his hands behind his back. "You moved up the Fusiliers' artillery."

"I did." There was nothing remotely apologetic in TR-11's voice. "If the Republic initiates hostilities we need to be ready to defend our positions."

"Very well." Reiter looked to Zhe. "Sergeant Major, how are the Commandos?"

"Troop commanders are in position," said Zhe, leaning on the table, sweeping her flinty gaze across the positions. "And they have eyes-on the Republic's forward positions. If they violate the ceasefire, we'll know."

"Very well." Reiter took a deep breath. "We have...thirteen hours until we're at war again, people. Let's be ready for it."

* * *

The battle lines on Axxila weren't always clearly delineated defensive positions. In some cases the command to stand down had come in the midst of a battle for a building, a hallway, an apartment. Where the Separatist combatants had been droids the ceasefire had been a simple, mechanical thing, but where the clones had scrapped with the organic fighters of the Gossam Commandos or the Kooriva Fusiliers, matters had been decidedly more awkward.

In the areas where there were wounded to retrieve and dead to lay to rest, the two sides had cooperated by silent agreement. Foes united to collect trooper armor tallies and lay them to rest in impromptu graves alongside Fusiliers while Koorivar soldiers read last rites before the troopers sang Vode An, the GAR marching song, one last time. The Gossam Commandos were less sentimental, simply stripping their colleagues of useable ammunition, weaponry, equipment, and finally, ID tags before turning to assist the clones.

But assist they did, some in deeper ways than others. The planetary headquarters of Biscuit Baron saw an almost amicable truce, as clones and Commandos alike united to scrounge up and cook what remained of the vast stocks of magnificently unhealthy and spectacularly delicious fast food.

But even as the brief respite prevailed, eyes kept flicking to chronos, keeping track of the countdown. And as the hours grew shorter and shorter more and more fighters from both sides bade farewell to their brief acquaintanceship, donning helmets, slinging blasters, and trudging back off to defensive positions. By the time an hour remained in the ceasefire, almost everyone was back at their posts.

Everyone, that is, except for one holdout: a squad each of clone troopers and Gossam Commandos, competing to see who could down more of Biscuit Baron's kids' meals. But even they had to call it quits at the thirty minute mark. Sweeping aside the debris of the galaxy's most successful fast food chain from the table, the clone Sergeant and Commando squad leader carved an epitaph into the booth's table:

 _In this booth the clones of Sergeant CT-19/3901's squad and the Commandos of Sergeant Xeng Liu decided to settle the war in far more delicious a fashion._

The two NCOs regarded their work and turned to shake hands. No clone had ever thought they'd be doing such a thing...but then again, no clone had been trained to go up against flesh and blood rather than machines.

Left unstated was the profound unease that Sergeant Oh-One and his squad had felt during the whole affair. Soon enough, they'd be back to doing what they had quite literally been born to do.

The Gossams and the Koorivar and even their own Jedi General might mourn the end of the treaty. But truth be told, the clones felt far more comfortable squeezing triggers than shaking the hands of their enemies.

This went double for Commander Bly, dug in alongside Lieutenant Galle's platoon at one of the foremost positions in the streets, steadily watching the countdown timer tick towards zero in his HUD. General Secura was touring the positions, checking in with the battalion commanders. Bly wanted to be at the tip of the spear, ready for the fighting to resume.

"Everyone's back, Commander," came the voice of the Lieutenant next to him. If Galle was worse for wear for his dip in the bacta tank, he wasn't showing it.

"Not a moment too soon," murmured Bly, gaze focused on the red numbers ticking down, and the battlefield beyond. "Ten seconds…"

"Safeties off, people," said Galle, flicking his DC-15 onto semi.

"Five…" murmured Bly, "four...three...two...one…"

For a few seconds after the war resumed, there was silence in the streets of Axxila...and then the dull thud of mortars sounded in the distance. A clone trooper opened up with his repeating blaster emplacement in a building nearby, a battle droid squad responded with a salvo of suppression fire-and then all hell broke loose once more.


	3. Chapter 3

The streets of Axxila were alive with war. The whine of blasterfire, the intense crack of slugthrowers and the dull thump of artillery mixed in with barked orders, cries for help and screams of pain as a rainbow of armored figures loped through the streets to try and gain some little ground in the urban melee. Inside the buildings fighting had long since devolved into more brutal hand to hand as the clones struggled from hall to hall and room to room, dispatching battle droids with ease before moving on to their far tougher foes among the Kooriva Fusiliers and the Gossam Commandos.

Out on the street there was more distance between attackers, though no less hard-fought for all that as blue and red blasterfire criss-crossed the streets. Some of the troopers dug in on street corners and strongpointing storefronts had long sGallee learned that the key to urban warfare was to minimize movement in the open as much as possible.

However someone had forgotten to tell that to their leaders.

Blue and yellow moved as one, bounding through the streets, loping from strongpoint to strongpoint to check in on their troops. If Commander Bly had any doubts about dashing through the hailstorm of weapons fire, he took care to hide them...and the protection of his General's lightsaber was more than enough to allay any lingering fears.

The duo went diving through the window of a TaggeCo storefront, somersaulting to a halt within a platoon command post. The platoon leader-ever-reliable Lieutenant Galle-was already scuttling over to his Commander, taking care to keep low.

"Sir! Ma'am! We're decisively engaged here, it's a slugging match out there, and bad!"

Bly almost found himself cupping his helmet's voice projector with his hand to shout over the blasterfire. Too much time without his helmet. "Have they tried advancing?"

"No Sir," said Galle, looking over as his platoon's E-Web blaster chattered to life. "Couple of battle droid pushes but nothing en masse-"

The Lieutenant was rudely interrupted by a _whoosh_ , followed by an explosion and cries for a medic. The E-Web crew had done its job too well and attracted the wrong kind of attention from the Fusiliers' mortars. Galle permitted himself a curse before continuing.

"-they're trying to wear us down, I think, before they send in the clankers. Only explanation I can think of."

Bly turned to ask General Secura her thoughts, but she wasn't with him and Galle anymore. She was already by the wounded E-Web crew, helping heal the injured gunner while his comrades covered her. Behind his helmet, Bly smiled. That was the General for you.

"Alright, Lieutenant, keep holding this position. Don't let them draw you out, last thing we need is for the 327th to be overrun by B1s. Bacara and Neyo would never let me hear the end of it." Bly clapped Galle on the shoulder. "Anything you need at your pos?"

Galle shook his head. "No Sir. Ammo and medical stocks are holding. About the only thing we're running low on is thermal dets and rockets for our Plex launchers."

"Roger." Bly blinked twice at his HUD, making sure his helmet had recorded that request, just as he'd done at the other positions he and General Secura had inspected. "We're going to try and have some gunships fly out ammo drops later in the day. Conserve supplies best you can till then."

"Copy that, Sir," said Galle, and then the Lieutenant was low-crawling back over to the firing line.

Bly was right behind him, coming up behind where General Secura was busy with the wounded. "How's he looking, Ma'am?"

"He'll be OK, bacta patches will take care of the rest of the damage." Aayla reluctantly lifted her hands from the trooper's chest, looking to Bly. "I heard you and Galle. We're going to need to move up our gunship flights at the rate we're expending ordnance."

"No arguments here, we-"

" _INCOMING!"_

Bly and Aayla threw themselves prone, but this time the Fusiliers' mortars were less accurate, and the salvo slammed into the street outside the storefront. Bly shook his head ruefully. "Ma'am, we need to do something about that arty. If we can't get counter-battery fire going we should at least send some teams in to neutralize the gunners."

"Gunship strikes," corrected Aayla, once more up and deflecting blasterfire with her lightsaber. "Less risk to our people."

Bly got up to a crouch, triggering fire from his rifle at a nearby CIS repeating blaster nest. It was a squad of battle droids manning the position, and one by one they fell under clone trooper fire. Cover wasn't something they had been programmed with.

"Commander!" It was Lieutenant Galle again, crouching behind cover as he hurried slapped a new tibanna gas cartridge home into his DC. "Sir, we could use some CAS, what's the word on those gunships?"

"Stand by, Lieutenant." Bly looked to Aayla, who nodded, and the Commander keyed his comm. "Jag, are you receiving?"

A few second later and the quiet voice of the clone officer commanding their air support responded. Commander Jai'galaar was a soft-spoken veteran who'd had the privilege of leading the Grand Army's gunships in their first foray into combat, landing in the arena on Geonosis to rescue the Jedi strike team. "Standing by."

"Good man. Sep arty's pounding our front lines, bring your larties in and give 'em something to think about would you? Targets of opportunity, coordinate with individual ground assets as necessary, acknowledge."

"Confirmed, focus on Sep arty, targets of opportunity." Grim pleasure was evident in the gunship ace's tones. "Request ground assets get their armor IR strobes up so we can verify friendlies, I say again, gonna need IR strobes, how copy?"

"Solid copy, already have 'em online."

"Acknowledged. ETA five mikes."

Bly grinned behind his helmet. "Roger. Break. All units, our friends on high are coming in to lend some CAS, keep your strobes up and your heads down!"

There were cheers in the strongpoint at that. Everyone loved gunships.

* * *

At first, Colonel Adrian Reiter was too busy observing the battlefield to notice the sound.

TR-11 had admonished him for unnecessarily exposing himself, but if Republic Generals and senior officers could lead from the quite literal front, it would hardly be proper for their CIS equivalents to stay hunkered down in a command post. Now, crouched behind sandbagged fortifications on the balcony of what had been a luxury apartment, Reiter swept the battlefield with his macrobinoculars, white eyes taking in everything.

He wasn't alone. RSM Hem Zhe was with him, with an oversized datapad that served as a tactical plot and several comms to keep in touch with the unit commanders and TR-11 back at headquarters. A squad of Gossam Commandos, the RSM's best (or so she said), were hunkered down with them in case the clones made a push. No one was firing but other balconies had been strongpointed in the apartment complex, and the Republic was less discriminating with their heavy weapons than Reiter would have liked. They'd run across more than a few civilians as they'd moved to set up their command post.

"Relay from the Fusiliers," said RSM Zhe. "Clones are starting to push forward, they're prioritizing our mortar sites."

"Understood. Have them displace at their discretion. And have TR-11 prep the first company of Super Battle Droids to advance." Reiter lowered his macrobinoculars, briefly tilting his head. There was a sound, a low humming in the distance...

"Already on it," came the tactical droid's metallic rasp over the comms. "Forward-most clone strongpoints have been identified as priority targets."

"Very good." Reiter frowned, sweeping the battlefield again with his binos. "Sergeant Major, do you hear that? Like a hum in the back of your head."

The RSM cocked her head, then cursed. "Sir, ten o'clock."

Reiter swivelled, peering through his binos-and then lowered them. A swarm of fat-hulled craft were in flight towards the CIS positions, and one didn't need to be a senior officer to identify them. "Gunships. Dammit-all positions take cover! I want anti-air droids targeting those ships immediately-"

The gunship formation was splitting up now...and the lead craft was still vectoring in towards the apartment complex. Adrian reached up to cinch his scarf tighter. Any second now-

-brief plumes of white smoke bloomed from the gunship's mass drivers.

"Missiles!" roared Reiter. "Cover, now!"

The Gossams threw themselves flat, as did Reiter. But the command post hadn't been the target: the missiles sailed by overhead to slam home into the building next to them. They could hear the shouts of pain and electronic dismay, too far to do anything. Reiter clenched a fist. "TR, where the hell's our triple-A?"

"Anti-air artillery online," came the emotionless reply. "Engaging targets of opportunity."

The clatter of metallic feet sounded on the next balcony over, and two B1 battle droids emerged, carrying missile launchers. A moment's consideration, and then the droids let fly with a pair of missiles. The gunship pilot reacted with the nigh-supernatural reflexes endemic to the clones, pirouetting the craft about and launching flares to try and divert the projectiles.

They were only half-successful. One missile went spiralling off in pursuit of the chaff, the other struck home and severed the craft's starboard wing. Once more the gunship spun bout, far less controlled this time, and went crashing headlong into the apartment building its missiles had targetted, leaving shrieks of pain and the groans of overstressed metal in its wake...but the building didn't collapse. Not yet.

Reiter looked to Zhe. "We can't let that go unanswered."

Zhe cocked her head. "Tri-droids, Sir?"

"No. The Republic decides how far this escalates. They've sent in their craft, very well. So shall we. TR-11?"

"Yes."

Reiter took a deep breath. "Get Squadrons 1 and 2 in the air, I want our HMPs out there now."

"Very good." The tactical droid sounded almost happy.

"And Aurek Company will commence their advance. Push where the clone lines are weakest." Reiter once more picked up his binoculars, peering down to the massed ranks of Super Battle Droids waiting below on the main thoroughfare. The formation stiffened as if responding to a signal, and then began to march forward, advancing on the Republic lines. Immediately the blue lines of the clones' outgoing fire shifted to target this new threat, but the droids responded in kind even as their metallic bretheren began to fall around them.

"Sir, casualty reports coming in." RSM Zhe was surveying the map, expression grim. "It looks like they were specifically going after the Fusiliers."

"Trying to knock out the mortars." Reiter turned to face his senior enlisted woman. "What's the damage?"

"Extensive. Fifty percent of our mortars are at least temporarily inoperable. Multiple KIAs." Zhe hesitated. "Multiple units reporting combat-ineffective."

That tore it. "Alright, we go back to the classic playbook. Mobilize as many droids as we can. Once droids arrive to relieve them at their positions, the Commandos and Fusiliers will withdraw. I'm not wasting our best troops like this."

The Regimental Sergeant Major looked relieved as she passed on the orders. Reiter squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to envision the next-of-kin letters waiting for him to write, and returned to observing the battlefield.

* * *

In the Biscuit Baron where the war had been reduced all too briefly to a far more enjoyable competition, Sergeant CT-19/3901 was the first to hear the new sound. And he was made decidedly nervous by it. Droid gunships, the HMPs, sounded almost like the beloved LAAT/i's, the Larties. But there was something _off_ to them, a certain tension-inducing undertone to their engines, a certain teeth-gritting vibration.

Oh-One keyed his comm. "All stations, we're about to have company up high."

There was a brief crackle of static, then the gunship commander's voice came over. "Confirmed, HMPs inbound. Bly, we'll do what we can, but be advised we don't have enough fuel to tangle with this lot for too long."

Oh-One sighed at that-he'd had a nasty feeling Jag was going to give that warning, but it made sense. Larties weren't made for dogfighting.

"Understood," came the voice of Commander Bly. "Do what you can, out. All units, get your Plexes ready!"

Lieutenant Inc, Oh-One's platoon leader, was already bellowing out the order, and the Sergeant unslung his launcher, hustling to the firing line and shoving the body of a dead Gossam Commando off the barricade before taking a knee next to the E-web. The dull thrum of the droid gunships was growing louder, the squad nervously craning their necks about. Oh-One shouldered his launcher, staring down the sight...but the optics had no targets flagged.

"Where the hell are they," muttered Lieutenant Inc, warily regarding the sky through his binos. "All squads, any contact?"

"Negative for First," said Oh-One after his other two rocket troopers shook their heads, and similarly negative replies were given by the other squad leaders.

The sound of engines was growing louder now. Sweet dripped down Oh-One's brow into his eyes, irritably blinked away. The bucket was great for many things, but it made scratching itches and dealing with crap in one's eyes more than a little difficult.

"Where the hell are they?" snarled the E-Web gunner on the Sergeant's flank, echoing his platoon leader. The thrumming was all around but there were still no droids to be seen, no circular hulls bristling with missile launchers, no malicious red-hued robotic gaze staring down the clones.

For a second, as the sound swelled to engulf the entire platoon's strongpoint, the war ceased to exist for Second Platoon. There was only the tension, the sweat, and the unseen gunships.

Oh-One's finger tightened on the trigger of his Plex.

And then suddenly, a nightmare visage dropped out of the sky to loom in front of. It was almost insectoid, with two red-lit photoreceptors glaring down at the clones even as the laser cannons bristling along its hull swivelled to aim at the strongpoint.

To Lieutenant Inc's credit, the surprise only held him for a second. Then the platoon leader was barking, "Fire fire _fire!_ " and letting loose with his DC.

The E-Web cannons chattered away, blasterfire and small arms stuttering against the droid-ship's shields and hull. And the HMP gunship's vocabulator crackled to life with mechanical laughter right as its cannons stuttered to life to stitch the clone positions.

"Rockets!" cried Lieutenant Inc, "get some rockets-"

And then he was cut off as the red hose of blasterfire swept over his body. Oh-One gritted his teeth and triggered his Plex, followed in short order by the platoon's other rocket-gunners. The Sergeant had just enough time to cheer at the rockets hitting home before the gunship's cannons stitched his body with bolts.

The world spun round Oh-One; nor was it the only thing, for he could see the HMP spiralling down to crash into the street beyond, spewing mechanical dismay from its vocoder. The Sergeant stayed conscious long enough to let out a faint, hoarse laugh at the craft's impact before his world went black.


	4. Chapter 4

The HMPs had been pulled back, but not before they had done some serious damage.

Bly and Aayla walked the line from outpost to outpost, movingly with more confidence now that the Gossam snipers had been withdrawn and the mortars of the Fusiliers had fallen silent. With the withdrawal of the organic forces, the action had devolved into what had become the sad archetype of action in this war: massed waves of droids marching mindlessly forward towards dug-in clone positions.

But it had given the 327th troopers not currently in action the opportunity to rest and re-arm. Bly and Aayla had taken stock of the wounded. They'd taken stock of the dead.

There were far, far too many of both.

They were inside the blown-out remains of a Biscuit Baron, now, where Lieutenant Inc and his platoon had been shredded by a gunship before downing it with a desperate rocket salvo. The Lieutenant was still alive, though unconscious, and being seen to by the platoon medic and an IM-5 droid. In front of Bly and Aayla, the platoon sergeant made his report.

"Came out of nowhere, boss. Heard their engines coming for ages, kept the Plexes and the E-Web ready...we weren't expecting them to be on top of us..."

Bly looked round. That surprise had proven deadly; a full three-quarters of the platoon were dead or combat-ineffective. Mostly dead, at that. He raised a hand, forestalling the rest of the platoon sergeant's weary litany. "We're tracking. Rig this place to blow and then pull back. Take your wounded with you. Once they've been dropped off behind the lines head for the main drag, clankers are pushing hard there."

The platoon sergeant blinked slowly as he processed Bly's orders. Then he reached into his belt kit to produce and jab a stim into his neck as he nodded his understanding. "Copy, Commander. We'll make it happen."

Aayla frowned. "Take some time at the rear, though. A few hours or more to rest. Your team looks like you need it."

Another slow blink, and then the platoon sergeant gave a nod of thanks. "Yes Ma'am. Will do."

"Carry on," said Aayla, and motioned for Bly to follow her out of the outpost.

The streets were silent, save for the running hail of blasterfire in the distance where droid and clone force alike clashed, and the two leaders of the peripatetic 327th began their trudge back to the battleground. Aayla's brow was furrowed in thought, and eventually Bly had to ask.

"Ma'am? You alright?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm getting worried. The Separatists can afford to try to bleed us dry, but I won't let that happen to my soldiers, and I won't let them lure us into a quagmire like that. We've beene dishing out casualties but when was the last time we gained any ground?"

Bly blew out a breath. "Building by building, bit by bit. But nothing solid, nothing that would dramatically turn the tide."

"We need something that _can_ turn the tide." Aayla blew out a breath. "...we should ask Reiter for another ceasefire."

"With respect, General, you're more likely to get blood from a stone." Bly could hear the sudden intensity in his voice, feel his spine stiffen. He didn't care. "That just gives that traitor more time to recover from the body blows we've dealt him and to come up with new plans to hit us. We don't want to legitimize him any more than we have."

Aayla gave Bly a concerned look, but if the Commander's vehemently expressed opinion of their opposite number was worrying the Jedi General, she kept it to herself. "Alright. What do you recommend?"

"Reinforcements, but not regular troops." Bly rolled his shoulders, kicking idly at a pebble in the street. "We've already got enough of my brothers sucked into this quagmire, it won't change anything. But. If we could get an Alpha ARC, or some RCs..."

"Useful assets to be sure, but what would we do with them?"

"Cut the head off the snake," Bly said immediately. "Kill or capture Adreian Reiter, kill the remainder of the Sep leadership and shut down the droids...and win us this battle."

* * *

Colonel Adreian Reiter strode into the war room, expression grim. His face was now blackened from dirt and debris. His scarf, once as pristine white as his eyes, now a dull gray. RSM Hem Zhe, smoke still curling off the barrel of her slung rifle, walked behind him.

There were two new figures waiting for him, holograms hovering over the tactical plot and quietly talking to TR-11. A massive humanoid shrouded head to toe in gray battle armor, a stylized mythosaur skull splashed across his chest. And next to him was a woman, clad in well-tailored, well-fitting robes. She had angular, striking features, a shaved scalp and at her waist hung two curved lightsabers.

Reiter bit back a curse, but managed to compose himself as Asajj Ventress turned to regard his entrance. "Madam Ventress. Commander Durge. This is an unexpected honor, to what do we owe your presence?"

The massive Durge just laughed. Ventress, however, was a bit more forthright, folding her arms to regard Reiter with a condescending stare. She was a dagger of a woman, simultaneously the bane of the CIS military's organic officers and their savior, the reliable counter for the Republic's force-using warriors.

Right now, however, she was the last person Adreian wanted to talk to.

"Count Dooku is growing impatient, Colonel." The dark acolyte's voice was a sultry rasp. "And your droid here tells us that you're refusing to employ all the assets at your disposal."

Reiter gritted his teeth. Damn TR-11 and whatever passed for a soul among droids. "I hope they also passed along my reasoning behind it."

"Oh, make no mistake, they did." Ventress smiled lazily. "Hardly a convincing excuse, Colonel."

"You've got those bastards in your sights," rumbled Durge. "Quit wasting time and smoke 'em."

Taking flak from Ventress was one thing-the woman had a code of her own, twisted though it may have been. Durge, however, was a rabid dog on Count Dooku's leash and was hardly someone a senior officer needed to kowtow to. Reiter stiffened, staring the other man down. "As I recall _I_ have operational authority here, _Commander_ Durge. While I appreciate your concerns, my staff and I are confident in our current plan."

"Oh, is that so?" Ventress' gaze languidly flicked over to RSM Zhe, standing at Reiter's side like a miniature monolith. "What say you, Sergeant Major?"

The Gossam woman made a faint noise of displeasure in the back of her throat, clearly unhappy at being pulled into the standoff. But ever the Commando, the RSM stepped forward to face her foe down. "I can see why it might look slow, but that's because our plan is more considered. We gain nothing from destroying a planet we already hold."

"Better to let that happen than let it fall into Republic hands," opined TR-11, coming to life from the other side of the holotable. "Axxila's strategic value lies in its hyperlane location. Not in its natural resources."

Reiter felt himself flush bright red with anger, like a damned human. "Axxila's value lies in that it is a world whose people we are supposed to _protect_ -"

Ventress waved him down, clearly bored. "Spare me the rhetoric, you sound just like a Jedi-"

"I'll take that as a compliment," growled the Colonel.

Ventress sighed. "Of course. Just know that Count Dooku is unhappy with the slow progress of the fight here...but you remain in command. For now."

Reiter and RSM Zhe exchanged glances. "...that's it? You called me for...what? To put me on notice?"

"Precisely. And I'm sure you can imagine that Durge and I might approach your little battle with a...heavier touch."

Nightmarish visions flashed before Reiter's eyes: buildings blown out, civilians screaming, burning, falling under indiscriminate fire from mechanised artillery. He held no illusions about some of his colleagues in the CIS, ruthless ones like these two most of all. If he was to lose command here…

"...very well. We'll increase our operations tempo accordingly."

Ventress gave Reiter a thin smile, and then her holo, plus that of the hulking brute next to her, winked out of existence.

As soon as she was gone, Reiter was whirling on his tactical droid, storming over to TR-11. "You went to _Ventress_? You were so damned displeased with our operations here you went to that _witch_?"

The tactical droid stared impassively at its commander. "Yes."

"You didn't think to let me know about that?" Reiter reached up to adjust his scarf. It was better than going for his blaster.

"No," said TR-11, and the droid paused a bit before elaborating. "I had calculated that your sentimental designs on this world would render me unable to convince you of a necessary course of action alone. External stimulus was needed."

"External stimulus? Listen, you piece of scrap-"

"Sir?" The RSM's voice was quiet but insistent, drawing Reiter back from the fruitless endeavour of a standoff with TR-11. "We need to draw up new plans. And activate our heavy units."

With a will, Reiter forced his glare away from the tactical droid's soulless photoreceptors and nodded to his Sergeant Major. "Right, of course. We might as well prepare to destroy the city to save it."

* * *

There were four of them, locked at stiff attention in the command post, all in the same gray armor and blue-visored helmets that bore just enough similarity to the regular rig that the infantry never failed to get jealous. One had a black shoulder pauldron, but the rest all wore the same identical gray kit.

Commander Bly, standing opposite the quartet alongside General Secura, couldn't help but be a bit wary. The Republic Commandos were a notoriously eccentric lot. Bred to fill in the gap between the hard-charging Alpha-batch ARC troopers and the regular infantry, the "RCs" hadn't set about endearing themselves to their standard-issue comrades. A certain aloof sense of superiority, a tendency to keep to themselves, and last but certainly not least, the cultural indoctrination given by some of the _Cuy'val Dar_ training sergeants on Kamino had all contributed to the RCs forming an army within the army.

That last had been the real rub. The Grand Army might have marched to the beat of _Vode An_ but the Mandalorian culture had barely percolated among the regular army...not that you'd know it talking to most of the RCs. Mando'a peppered their speech, Mandalorian customs their every action, and their training sergeants still slunk around in full beskar, unable to leave their "boys" behind.

The four standing opposite him were part of Beskad Squad, and they seemed to have fully embraced the trend, if their squad name-Mandalorian for 'Iron Saber'-was any indicator.

Bly decided to let Aayla do the talking. After New Holstice, he wasn't particularly keen on Mandalorians. Born-again or otherwise.

"At ease," said Aayla, surveying the quartet. "And please take off your helmets."

The commandos shifted at that...but as one the helmets were removed, revealing a quartet of identical features, save for the scars that they and so many of their brethren had picked up over the war, with regulation haircuts identical down to the millimeter.

Behind his mask, Bly frowned. _That_ was not par for the course among the RCs he'd met, especially not the Mandalorian-trained ones. Next to him he could see General Secura's eyes widening in the faintest hint of surprise...and in front of him, the RC with the officer's pauldron's lip curled in the faintest of sneers.

Bly clenched a fist.

"General Secura," said the officer, "Captain RC-9019, squad leader. How can we assist?"

"As you can tell, we've let matters here devolve into a stalemate." The Jedi General shook her head. "That has to end. Your mission is simple: infiltrate the Separatist headquarters and neutralize their leadership. Take Colonel Reiter alive, ideally, to stand trial."

RC-9019 inclined his head. "Gutsy, Ma'am. Not what we'd expect from a _Jetiii_ at all."

There was a flash from within Aayla-not of anger, no, but definitely of dismay, and Bly's eyes narrowed as he regarded the commando Captain. But Aayla Secura was made of sterner stuff than the RCs seemed to be giving her credit for, and she didn't so much as flinch.

"More often than not, guts are what's needed to win a battle, Captain." She tilted her head. "Do you have a name?"

"Yes Ma'am, I do." The Captain left it at that.

"May I know it?"

"Respectfully, Ma'am, that's...a private matter."

"Very well." Aayla didn't so much as bat an eyelash. "Commander, give them all the deconfliction information they need. I need to check on the wounded."

Bly dipped his head. "Yes Ma'am."

Both Commander and commandos waited until Aayla had made her exit, and then RC-1019 turned to face Bly, a lazy smile curling his lips. "Not bad, Sir. Can see why you'd enjoy being lapdog for _that_ Jedi, hey?"

Now Bly _did_ tug off his helmet, letting the RCs see the fury burning on his face. "Wind your neck in, _Captain_. Remember you're wearing Katarn armor. Not beskar."

"Yes Sir," said RC-9019, giving Bly a searching look.

The Commander stared the special operations clone down in return, but curiosity got the better of him. "Any special reason you won't tell the General your name?"

RC-9019 blinked, almost confused. "Well I mean-she's a _Jetii_ , Sir. Not one of us. No reason for her to know."

It was like listening to one of the more aggressive _Cuy'val Dar_ instructors speak through a clone's mouth. Bly was suddenly very, very tired. "Yeah, roger. We need to move fast as possible on this one; you'll have a gunship out of the 127th detailed to support you, but all other assets will be on-call. All pertinent intel's already been sent to your databases. Get me an op order within the next twelve hours, step off soon as possible after that. You need anything, let me know."

"Will do," said the Captain, drawing himself up to attention. His three comrades were likewise doing the same. "If that's all, Sir."

"Yeah. Dismissed."

The quartet of commandos right-faced and moved to stride out of the command center, donning their helmets as one. But as the inscrutable visage of the T-visor slid over their faces, Bly could've sworn he'd heard them whistling a very familiar tune.

It was _Vode An_.

"Bloody RCs," grumbled the Commander.


End file.
